


all is fair in love and war

by mariafuckingcalavera



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Robin Hood Fusion, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Developing Relationship, Fair Game Week (RWBY), Fluff, M/M, Mild Smut, Princes & Princesses, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:35:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23262565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariafuckingcalavera/pseuds/mariafuckingcalavera
Summary: Clover Ebi was the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Solitas, set to rule the kingdom when he became thirty years of age. The only son of a king and queen brutally murdered, the fate of the Kingdom of Solitas and it's expectations sat on his shoulders, and he knew it.Meanwhile, Qrow Branwen, abandoned by the Branwen Tribe at age 10, raised by the Happy Huntresses, follows in their footsteps with a more mischievous twist: donning disguises, wrecking chaos amongst Atlas noblemen, nicknamed the Harbringer of Solitas.With lives so drastically different, with no two lives contrasting each other more, it wouldn't have been a surprise if the Crown Prince and the Harbringer of Solitas never crossed paths. But fate decreed they would.And it all started with one night.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen & Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	all is fair in love and war

**Author's Note:**

> this is the final day of fairgame week: AU/ free day!! i chose today to publish the first chapter of my fanfic: a fairgame prince vigilante au i've been working on for ages! enjoy!
> 
> also, in this AU, qrow and clover are both 30 years old, whilst Robyn is 40!

_It was the first time Clover had ever begged for anything._

_And his begs echoed across the walls, his sobs joining them like a demented choir as he whimpered and cried, begging in his tears. For light to return to green eyes as they looked towards the painted ceiling, for the red to stop sinking into the fabric that clung to his father's dead corpse, he would do anything. But the damage was done: he was dead and the image of his father's cold corpse laying next to the crystal chandelier was forever seared into Clover's mind. His smooth hands, untouched by the ugliness of war, cradling a cold face in his hands._

_The chaos reigned outside the walls of the ballroom: swords clashing, agony embodied in the form of ugly and chilling howls, screeches of agony that would have shaken him to the core. But none of that could touch him, not with the dread that rose form his stomach and into the chambers of his heart, rising to his throat, crushing his lungs. Clover shook with the inability to keep it all inside: his hands shaking as it battled to come out, breathless as he choked on his fear, on his tears until it all escaped him in one scream, in one gesture as he leapt at his father, desperately trying to shake him awake, to revive him, to do something,_ **_anything_ ** _for the light to resurface in his teal green eyes. Anything to feel the warmth of his hands that felt too cold to the touch._

_They found Clover hours later, crying in his dead father's arms._

~~~

_Qrow sobbed as he ran through the woods, away from everything he'd known._

_His feet stung, leaving trails of red where the bottom of his feet had been pierced by countless rocks and twigs, his thighs burning from endlessly tumbling on his feet, barely escaping the jaws of the Beowolves that followed. His curse: an eternity of misfortune, lashed out at the claws that nipped at his heels, barely keeping them at bay._

_All it took was a raid gone horribly wrong, and Qrow's semblance flashing in his eyes, crackling around his body. His semblance brought a hailstorm of misfortune when they figured it out. It had helped him when arrows narrowly missed his head, as the only people he trusted threw him out, turning their backs on him the second he gave them a reason to._

_Driven by pure adrenaline and the fumes that barely kept him alive, he found the hope slipping through his fingers, lost to the Grimm, lost to his despair. Leaves brushed up against his arms, sharp branches leaving cuts and scrapes, slicing through his weakened aura, sweat trickled down his brow- but he was almost at the clearing, he was almost to the kingdom-_

_He tripped, a stray tree root sending him tumbling to the ground._

_And the Grimm pounced on him, ready to rip him apart-_

_Before a crossbow bolt came whizzing through the air, nailing the Grimm in the mouth._

_Qrow watched with a mixture of awe and pure terror as Ice Dust spread out throughout the Grimm, ice-cold blue creeping underneath skin as thin as spider webs, consuming it, encasing the foul creature in ice: crawling underneath its pitch black skin, freezing it solid in seconds before it shattered, the Grimm disintegrating into the cold, winter breeze._

_"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" The voice of a young woman asked concernedly, and he turned around to see a woman clad in green and red running towards him, sliding down to meet the young boy. He could barely speak as he watched her violet eyes scan his body, her fingers fleeting, brushing the skin._

_"Do these hurt?" She asked, her voice softer now, compassionate, kind. Her fingers hovered over the cuts and scrapes that littered his arms and legs, her voice dripping with concern. He looked up at the woman before him, feeling his guard lower, feeling his hands shake, his lip tremble, his fatigue sink into his muscles and bones. His eyes spoke horrors she couldn't even comprehend, but when he finally gained the confidence to look back, he saw kindness in her violet eyes, understanding, compassion. He saw safety in her, one he so desperately needed. And as she looked into rose-red eyes and saw the fear, she felt empathy strike her in the heart as she saw it all again: the agony of abandonment, of rejection from the people he trusted the most. A mother's instinct took over her body, present in her reassuring smile, in her loving eyes. She didn't have to ask him if he had anywhere to stay: one look at him and she knew he didn't: not anymore._

_Well, he had one now._

_"Hey, kid, you can stay at my place for a bit, if you want, sound cool?" Robyn suggested softly, and he leapt into her arms, crying, sobbing: his body shaking, shuddering under her embrace. Robyn could feel her heart shatter as she held this kid in her arms, her hands rubbing comforting circles in his back, pulling him close. She could only imagine his pain, his agony. But if she knew anything, it was that this kid was alone in the world, with no mother he could embrace, no father he could laugh with, no place to call home. She knew the feeling all too well, the feeling one that sat in the pit of her stomach, dancing at the edges of her subconscious: the fact that she didn't have a home, never did. She had to make her own from the sticks of her hardships and the stones of her heartbreaks, she had to make her own home, with the people she loved. And now she had a family, but she was also with imperfections, scarred hearts, broken minds. She won't let it happen to any other kid, never again._

_And this little bird was no exception._

_~~~_

Twenty fateful years ago, in a faraway kingdom, unknown forces raided the castle with the objective of killing the royal family. Able to get past the military, they managed to kill King Felix Ebi and Queen Dahlia Ebi, and were forced to make their escape before they could find their only son, Clover Ebi.

Ever since then, the mighty Kingdom of Solitas had been divided.

The king's brutal, untimely death divided the people of Atlas and Mantle by their differing views on the mystery of his murderers. At the time, Atlas was rumoured to be mobilising their army: their numbers and fleets rapidly growing, as if they were preparing for war. Tensions buzzed through the air like static electricity, crackling through the air, waiting to be redirected, itching to get out. The king had denied these allegations in a public press conference, directly speaking out against the prospect of war. A few days after, an army of unknown origin invaded the castle, killing every member of the royal family they could find, with Clover Ebi, Crown Prince of Solitas, as the lone, lucky survivor. After the incident, General James Ironwood was deemed the king until Clover reached thirty years of age and was able to inherit the throne, as per the will of the king.

This was the origin of the divide between Atlas and Mantle, the hairline fracture in the society of Solitas that only worsened as time passed, as they argued over who were the mysterious forces behind the murder of the king and queen. That one question haunted every conversation, lingered on every word on the lips of every person in Solitas, dancing on the tip of their tongues, powerful enough to form the rift between the two infinitely different communities: the rich noblemen of Atlas and the peasants and middle-class citizens of Mantle.

The rich noblemen of Atlas believed it was whom the royal family pinned the murder on: Robyn Hill and her Happy Huntresses, telling the tragic tale that they killed the king in cold blood. Before the incident, Robyn Hill had been on the front lines of a political revolutionary movement, to take the power of the monarchy and give it to the people by all means necessary. She had been a relevant figure in society, her emblem the symbol of revolution for the many that believed in her to topple the government. She had left the military after her compulsory years of military training despite the offer to be a general, making her disdain for the royal family known.

Meanwhile, the people of Mantle suspected none other than the current ruler of the Kingdom of Solitas: James Ironwood. His rule had only resulted in the widening of the social disparity between Atlas and Mantle, festering distrust in the hearts of many of the middle class and peasants. It didn't help his case that he had started a mysterious war with the Kingdom of Sanus just months after he was made king, either. Additionally, the details of the war were hidden away from the public and the news from both Sanus and Solitas, the only details of the war spilling from the lips of the few soldiers that did return from it. The only thing anyone knew for sure was that the Kingdom of Solitas had lost the war, and Mantle's economy paid the price.

So, with Clover's ascension to the throne coming up in a few months, there was a nervous energy in the atmosphere, lingering in the breezes of all of Solitas: but it couldn't compare to the anxiety it filled the young prince with.

The last thing he needs is a new problem surfacing last minute, for something to ruin all of this for him.

Luckily (or unluckily), the Harbinger of Solitas is often the last thing someone needs.

With lives so drastically different, with no two lives contrasting each other more, it wouldn't have been a surprise if the Crown Prince and the Harbringer of Solitas never crossed paths. But fate decreed they would.

And it all started with one night.

~~~

"Cut her off!"

Clover Ebi huffed with frustration as he sprinted through the busy streets of the Mantle night market, manoeuvring through the crowd with ease as he never lost sight of the lowly vigilante clad in black. He watched as his fellow operative, Elm, blocked off her path, forcing her to take a right as Harriet pursued her head-on, never once letting her out of her eyesight. Clover dodged into an alleyway, just to the outskirts of Mantle with intent to cut her off. They all knew where they were cornering the criminal: to the edge of a cliff, with nothing but jagged rocks, gleaming with the icy chill of the sea that surrounded it.

Robyn Hill was a hard woman to catch, but they were close.

He could feel it in his bones.

She rounded the corner, managing to disappear into the marketplace, causing Clover to scowl as he tried to find her in the crowd. But a whistle sounded through the air: one short puff, one long whistle, followed by two short puffs. _Thank god for you, Marrow,_ he muttered under his breath. His whistle told him she had gone left, and he sighed with relief when he saw that Harriet got the message, dodging into an alleyway on the left. She had been trying to lose them, but little did she know that she was heading exactly where he wanted her to be. He swiftly dodged into an apartment building, scaling the steps until he reached a rooftop, pursuing her from there. He watched as Marrow, Elm and Harriet pursued her from the ground, bolo ties at the ready, Vine and Clover pursuing from the top, all heading towards the cliffside. Just as they were about to run out of roof to run across, entering the short stretch of forest before the cliff, Vine lowered himself down, golden fingers latching around Clover's body to lower him safely to the tops of the trees before they retracted, all five of them backing her into a corner. He watched as she skidded to a stop, already turning around to see Marrow, Harriet and Elm surrounding her only exit, Clover and Vine jumping down from the trees. She drew her weapon, but Harriet was faster: electricity crackled through the air and Robyn was pinned beneath her in mere seconds, bolo ties snapping shut around her body and wrists before she was left on the ground. Clover waved a hand to the side, dismissing Harriet as he knelt down to meet her eye, the sweet taste of victory and revenge well served, sweeter than honey.

"Tell me, how do the cuffs feel, hm? Too tight?" Clover taunted, his tone was filled with bitterness, hatred surging in his veins as he looked into the eye of the woman who had killed his mother and father for something as pathetic as the throne, for something as shallow as power. She ripped away a father and a mother from his life, leaving him with emptiness and expectations, with the memories of his father's blood staining the crystals from the fallen chandelier. All his trauma, the origins of his suffering, all of that was caused by the death of his parents and the woman responsible for them was tied up and bound, lying in front of him, at mercy to his sword. Oh, how he wanted to deliver justice to his parents this instant, to draw Kingfisher and slice the tip of the lance against her throat, to end her life right here and now.

But he was better than that.

Barely, he thought to himself, as she chuckled at his words, her eyes gleaming with a mysterious glint as if _she_ had won.

"Hm, was never one for bondage, Shamrock. Your little operative's cute though, she single?" Robyn shot back, her tone mocking as she gestured to Harriet with her head. Clover scoffed dismissively, but he felt his blood boil at her tone. She was caught, she was done, she knew she was heading for the guillotine: he'd certainly make sure of that. But even tied up and alone, her smile, her coolheaded nature infuriated him as he snarled, teeth gritted.

"You're under arrest, Robyn Hill. For multiple accounts of aggravated assault, theft, fraud, defamation, first-degree murder and god knows what else." Clover roughly dragged her to her feet by her collar, shoving her forwards, forcing her to move. Normally, he didn't treat criminals and prisoners like this, but she had murdered his parents and still had the damn confidence to look him in the eye and make jokes. She didn't deserve his respect.

"I would say you'll be locked up for a long time, but the guillotine seems better suited for you." Clover snarled, but she continued her nonchalant charade, walking forwards.

"Wow, terrifying." Sarcasm dripped from her tone as she walked towards the castle through the forest, surrounded by the five Ace Operatives, weapons drawn as they trekked through the forest. Clover's fists clenched as he watched Robyn Hill walk forward with a smug expression, but as the time passed, he felt a part of his anger turn into anxiety, he felt his heart pounding in his throat, he could feel the panic flow in his veins in his body as he tensed up. What if this is what she wanted? What if they just made a big mistake? What if they had played right into her hands?

Why else would she look so smug, if that wasn't the answer?

"Don't let her get to you. She isn't worth it." A voice pulled him from his thoughts, and Clover looked towards his left to see Marrow, the youngest and newest addition to the Ace Operatives, an elite team of the most skilled Huntsmen in Atlas. Despite his young age, he had earned his place as an Ace Operative fair and square: passing the exam to qualify with flying colours, scaling through the ranks no matter what others saw him. His Faunus heritage made discrimination a factor that could have dragged him down, but he pulled through. Marrow had a passion and excitement for his job that was infectious, as well as the optimism of youth, which uplifted the morales of his peers often. And even now, with two years into the job, he was still the excited, optimistic individual he had recruited.

"I'm very much aware she isn't worth my time, Operative Amin." Clover sighed, his tone heavy, saddened as he was reminded of the reason why. He forced the memory of finding his father's corpse out of his mind, forcing himself to focus on the evening breeze as the sun sank into the horizon, of the sky painted in hues of amber and soft pinks, on Marrow's voice, on literally anything else.

"And yet, you're letting her get to you. You shouldn't." Marrow stated bluntly, the brutal honesty in his tone catching the prince by surprise. But he allowed it, his silence allowing Marrow to continue.

"We caught her. It took a long time, sure, but we did. And after tonight's ball, she'll pay for her crimes." Marrow reassured him, trying to look him in the eye. But Clover, ever so stubborn, couldn't help but think of all the other problems they still had. Every kingdom has always had the occasional vigilante, but they happened to get the worst kind: the kinds that were trained, the kinds with enough cunning and skill to rival even the Ace Operatives.

And as much as he hated to admit it, Solitas had the kind with enough reason to do so.

That's why people were excited for him to rule the nation, praying he eliminated those reasons.

Frankly, he didn't know if he could.

"We may have, but the rest of the Happy Huntresses are still out there, and so is the Harbinger of Solitas. They may not have a leader, and the Harbinger of Solitas has his own separate agenda-"

"The Happy Huntresses are useless without a leader, our recent attempts to get them told us that. With her gone, they'll scatter, or get caught too. And the Harbinger of Solitas is nothing but a nuisance compared to them, we'll get him soon enough. Relax a little." Marrow interrupted Clover unknowingly before he realized his mistake, immediately straightening up and adding a timid _Your Highness_ to the end of his sentence, his voice small, shy. Clover sighed, about to protest when he considered everything Marrow had to say and finally relented.

"I suppose you do have a point." Clover let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, unable to meet Marrow's light blue eyes. Marrow noticed, and gave him a light smile, trying to cheer him up.

"Have some fun tonight, hm? For the rest of us. You're the only one of us with the night off, after all. And I think catching a terrorist is a good enough reason to celebrate." Marrow suggested, his tone lighthearted and cheerful, but they both knew what he was asking. Clover was silent for a while, considering Marrow's words. He did have a point: for the past few weeks, they had been hunting the Happy Huntresses more frequently because they had caught wind of a rumour that concerned the whereabouts of the Happy Huntresses' base of operations. From their failed attempts to apprehend them, they had learnt that the Happy Huntresses were more dependent on their leader than they had originally realised, to the point where whole operations can fall apart without her. They wouldn't survive long with Robyn in their custody.

His anxiety seemed trivial now, as it faded away with the forest birdsong.

"Thank you, Operative Amin." Clover thanked, a small smile creeping onto his face as some of the anxiety and frustration he felt from earlier dissipated.

"Any time, Your Highness." Marrow affirmed, a small smile coming onto his face as he saw some of the tension evaporating from his tense shoulders, as he saw his gaze soften as he walked forward. But as Marrow looked away, he tried to keep the guilt that festered in his heart from showing on his face, to keep his tail from drooping in sadness. He glanced at the bird sitting on the branches of a tree ahead of them: clad in raven black, it's rose red, judgemental eyes staring back at him with an intensity he could barely comprehend, but fully understood. He watched as it observed the scene, before it took off, soaring into the sky.

_Tonight will go smoothly,_ Marrow affirmed to himself, despite the anxiety crawling in his skin.

It had to, for everyone's sake.

~~~

_"Dad, please wake up. Please wake up, it's me!" Clover begged, his voice echoing through the ballroom, his fingers stained with his father's blood as he shook him and screamed and begged for him to be okay, only to be met with chilling silence and dead, teal green eyes that stared up into the ceiling, where the fallen crystal chandelier once lay._

_"DAD!" He screamed over and over again, his vision blurred with tears as voices comforted him, voices of chambermaids and soldiers and of the staff but never his father, no. He didn't stir. He didn't wake. He just lay there, a cold corpse._

_"Dad...please..."_

Clover found himself in the gardens, his hands shaking, his breaths short, chest tight. Each inhale and exhale from his nose to his lungs to his lips felt more like a marathon with his legs chained to boulders, leaving him, lethargic, breathless, head spinning from the copper in the air only he could taste on his tongue.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Instinct had controlled him earlier: the first signs and he was already headed towards somewhere, anywhere, anywhere without a roof over his head, anywhere without people dancing, anywhere without the image of his father's blood staining their shoes, making bloodied footprints as they glided over the floor. He just needed to get out of there: he didn't know where he would go, he didn't care. He wanted out, he didn't want to see his father's dead eyes etched in the stone walls, in each seam of the tapestries.

Every year, this happened. Somewhat in the middle of the night, he'd be left alone and he'd glance towards the centre of the room and he'd hear the people singing and laughing as they chatted, but he'd see nothing but the pool of blood that was visible from behind the crystal chandelier. He'd smell the copper taste of blood in the air, hear everything else, chuckles and guffaws of the rich mixed with shrill screams that sent fear drumming through his veins and instinct would take over, bringing him to where he always felt safe.

The sky was always there, after all.

His instinct had taken him to the gardens like it usually did, and he gasped with relief once he was out of the castle, the fresh air of the summer night refreshing, rejuvenating. It was nothing compared to the forest, but it was so much better than the heady, heavy scent of a million colognes and wines and champagnes and the music that was just too slow and too loud and too fast at certain intervals, everything clogging his mind, constricting his chest, making him choke on nothing. The sun had set just a short while ago, revealing the stars that the sun veiled underneath golden rays of light: silver diamonds littering a navy blue night sky with dozens and dozens of silver lights, the grey of silver and polar white in stark contrast to deep, deep blue, the gleam and glitter of the stars slow, calming. Fragments of the shattered moon scattered in the sky, softening the blue shades of bleu de france and midnight that decorated the pathways. He wanted to stay out here forever, surrounded by nature, by the subtle creatures of the world that didn't expect anything of him. The creatures that didn't look at Clover and see a prince instead of a human, of a king instead of a person, the creatures that only cared enough to leave him alone, creatures he didn't have to prove anything to by going back into the ballroom and parading around with a fake smile. The mere thought of going back inside the ballroom filled him with dread. He so badly wanted a reason to escape the party, he so badly wanted something that could shake away the remnants of anxiety that bubbled in his chest.

He appreciated the fact that King Ironwood had wanted to celebrate the life and achievements of his late father when so many others only remembered his death and the mystery behind it. He appreciated the fact that King Ironwood still held enough respect for him to throw this party, even when he personally deemed balls as a waste of time and money. He was already so burdened with the duties that came with being the father of the nation, of the responsibilities that came with the throne, so forgive Clover if he didn't mention how he would see the crystal chandelier shattered on the floor where guests sipped wine and laughed. He didn't want to burden King Ironwood with more things to worry about, especially when he had it handled most of the time. It was nights like this when it spiked, when it got particularly bad, when it crept into his throat, when it ate away at his heart. It was nights like this when he needed someone, anyone that understood he couldn't use words to describe a day like this.

"You okay, Your Highness?" An unfamiliar voice asked, and he gasped quietly as he turned around to meet a man clad in scarlet red and raven black, mask to match, his voice casual with the slightest hint of worry. He wondered how he was recognized before he fully registered the green mask in his hand, his own face bare. Clover took in a deep breath, before the faux smile came back to his expression again, as he mentally prepared himself for going back in. He didn't want to go back in there- _god, he didn't,_ but the citizens came first. The civilians came before his own selfish need, always.

"Yes, I am, forgive my surprise. I didn't think anyone would be back here, it's far away enough from the party as it is. Do you happen to be lost, sir? I could guide you back towards the ballroom if that's what you desire." He asked politely, falling back into the character of Crown Prince Clover, loved by (most of) the public, admired for his valiant but kind heart. Shoulders back, chin heightened the slightest bit, the slight outward curve in his back straightening, rigid as he easily faked a practised, comforting smile. But instead of just agreeing, the man shrugged.

"Nah, just didn't like the atmosphere. Not my kinda party. You?" The man asked, his voice deep, gravelly, but Clover found it surprisingly comforting: rolling over him, dissolving the ever so perfect posture he faked, soothing the strained muscles there from earlier's chase. He stared back into soft, rose red eyes that burned with the embers of a crackling fire, just hot enough to provide the security of warmth. He couldn't help but think it was what he needed tonight, but he couldn't possibly allow himself to let the idea fester, couldn't let himself imagine his arms around Clover's whilst silent promises echoed in the air-

No. _Stop it, Clover. How did he do all that to you with a simple question?_

"Pardon me, I didn't quite catch that." Clover apologized with a sheepish expression, but his brain was short-circuiting as he tried to figure out how this man was able to leave him flustered this easily, without even trying. He knew it wasn't from his near breakdown in the ballroom- he had worse breakdowns, and still, no one was able to lower his guard, no one was able to melt the walls he put up so easily. But the man didn't seem to care, as if he could stroll past every single barrier he put up.

"I'm asking about you, lucky charm. Going back to the ballroom's clearly not what _you_ desire." The man remarked.

"It's not an issue, I can assure you." Clover reassured, lying through his teeth, hoping he didn't see through the ruse, even amplifying his semblance to give him a stroke of good luck, but the man's hands crossed over his chest.

"You're a shit liar." He stated all of the sudden, pulling him out of his thoughts and causing Clover's jaw to drop slightly in surprise at the coarseness of his words. Despite his blunt words, the man certainly seemed like an Atlesian nobleman at first glance: dressed to the nines from head to toe, clad in scarlet red and raven black to match his rose red eyes and dark, slicked back, feathered locks that rested on his head neatly. Not to mention, the curved sword to his side that was too extravagant to be real. But if you took a closer look, you'd see the subtle signs that gave it away: the mischievous, suggesting glint in rose red irises, the strands of hair escaping the styled locks, dropping back on the side of his face, the way he let mischief tug the corner of his lips upwards. He was definitely not Atlesian, to say the least: no Atlesian dared to say things like that at a royal ball. And just like that, the man had piqued his curiosity, his interest.

"Cute when you're flustered, though, I'll give you that." That statement caused a flush of red to appear on his face as he, for once in his life, struggled with finding the right words, his brain short-circuiting once again. Or had it been shorting out this whole time? He couldn't tell.

"I...forgive me, sir, I don't believe- I don't believe I caught your name." Clover stammered, trying to regain his composure. The man chuckled, his tone light, playful, but teasing as he leaned in closer.

"Well, I heard your semblance is good fortune. Why not you take a lucky guess, hm?" He suggested, his voice dropping a few notes lower, his tone seductive, inviting as his hum at the end rumbled from his throat. Clover felt his breath hitch as he closed the distance, but not quite eliminating it, barely skirting the edge of his personal space as if he needed an invitation to invade it.

And oh, how Clover _wanted_ to extend that invitation to him.

"Hm, you aren't from Atlas, I know that. You're not like other Atlesian noblemen types." Clover stated affirmingly, earning a chuckle from the man: subtle, but you could tell it was real from the laugh lines nearby his eyes, how rose red irises seemed to compliment the silver moonlight even more than they already did.

"And what type am I, exactly?" The man asked innocently, but his eyes were hooded, blown wide as he drifted closer, his eyes flickering towards his lips before the met his eyes.

"Who's type are you hoping to be?" Clover asked breathlessly, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Yours." The man responded, and Clover found himself speechless at how easily he could be so seductive, inviting. Clover didn't think he would fold so easily, but his alluring demeanour was fucking intoxicating, on the tip of his tongue, leaving him to chase the sweet feeling, leaving him desiring more. The look he gave Clover was simply illegal, walking the dangerous line between innocent and downright sinful, predatory at the edges, like a lion stalking its prey, waiting for the right moment to strike.

And Clover barely knew anything about this mysterious man that caught his attention, but watching his tongue dart in between his lips and that sinful look in his eyes threw all of his self-control and qualms out the window. He knew he shouldn't, he knew it was risky. He knew this could ruin him, but he couldn't find it in him to care.

And that feeling felt exhilarating as Clover closed the distance, kissing the man's lips.

~~~

His skin was on fire.

Passionate as raging flames, desires singing through the midnight breeze that wafted into the room as Clover was pinned under a stranger he didn't know, one that left bites and kisses at places that made him suppress whimpers underneath the back of his hand. His green and golden coat had gotten discarded to the side, his vest about to follow its example as the man planted kisses on his jaw, causing Clover to throw his head back with a sigh of pleasure.

Two broken souls were one tonight as they relished in each other's pain, in each other's agony as Clover let a stranger tear down his walls, as the man took whatever Clover could give him and taking it gladly, just there to make him feel good, just there to keep him on that glorious edge for hours.

Because his job in this heist was to just keep the prince as distracted as possible.

The Harbinger of Solitas had to admit: he was so unsure of this plan at first. It was a plan to take back what King Ironwood essentially stole from the people: money the nation needed, stolen from the people of Mantle by increased taxes. This meant they had to steal from all four of the heavily guarded treasuries in the castle grounds to redistribute the losses because if there was a hefty loss to one of the four treasuries and the others were untouched, it would be obvious something was up.

But getting onto the castle grounds without approval from the king was a challenge enough, let alone getting past the royal guard, the Ace Operatives, and managing to escape with that much gold undetected. He expected elaborate schemes, intricate plans, for every single thing to be accounted for. So when he saw that Robyn being imprisoned was part of the plan, you could understand his apprehension. She was the smartest person he knew, but with the plan laid out before him, with so many loose ends and what-ifs with so many things he just couldn't see going their way, doubt started to creep into his mind. And unsurprisingly she had noticed his hesitation, his apprehension, and she had persuaded him into this insane heist anyway. With a few words, a reassuring smile, and a ruffle of his hair, he was enthusiastically jumping into the plan after a day of consideration, eagerly counting down the days to this heist.

She just had that effect on people. The reason why she had that effect on him, though...

You'd have to ask the unlucky, scared kid she adopted on the streets twenty years ago.

So far, the plan had gone smoothly: the Happy Huntresses had managed to give the allusion that they were useless without Robyn, Robyn got arrested, and Marrow had ensured that he got to the gardens, where he knew Clover would eventually end up. On the way to the gardens, he had made a detour, freeing Robyn from her prison cell, conveniently left unguarded due to Marrow rearranging things around. Marrow had directed Robyn towards the western treasury before going back to his post in the ballroom whilst the dusty old crow flew back above the sky, helping the rest of the Happy Huntresses sneak in one by one via signals given whilst he was in bird form. Now, all he had to do now was keep the prince too distracted to see any anomalies as they did the heavy lifting.

So that's what he did: his fingers fumbling with the buttons of Clover's green and gold embroidered vest, tossing it to the side with Clover's help. Clover shivered with excitement as the stranger's tongue ran over Clover's lips, nipping, biting, teasing, painstakingly playful in the way that made him lose his tight grip on himself. _He was certainly eager,_ the man mentally noted _._

But as he was going to unbutton the bottom half of Clover's shirt, bells rang urgently in the distance.

They both rose from the bed, casting a look towards each other as they sat in silence listening to the bells. Three short chimes followed by three longer chimes, then three short chimes again. Clover swore under his breath as his eyes grew wide. To Clover, those bells meant the castle was under attack, that the people were to be evacuated and that people had infiltrated the castle successfully.

But the other man just sighed with frustration, knowing the heist went somewhat sideways.

What else could he expect?

"Sorry, the castle's under attack, I have to go-" Clover started as he reached for Kingfisher, but he was interrupted by a curved sword held to his throat. Clover was about to push it away when he saw that the extravagant blade, upon closer inspection, was indeed real: a curved broadsword with a single curved edge, that very edge inches from his throat.

"On the contrary, lucky charm, that's all the reason to stay here, isn't it?" The man teased but his words were commanding. Clover had to no choice but to relent, sitting down on the bed, looking up at the masked man, rose red eyes now filled with intense concentration.

"What do you and your men want?" Clover asked, wary.

"Democracy. Mantle's fucked." The man simply stated, shrugging his shoulder as he aimed his sword at Clover. Clover knew he was right, but this man is also keeping him here, unable to help the soldiers downstairs. He had to get downstairs, towards the commotion.

"Mantle is fine. But in my opinion..." Clover trailed off before he leaned back, sliding forwards underneath the blade, off the bed before he sprang to his feet, lance drawn.

"You should worry about yourself first." He advanced, the clash of steel against steel echoing in the room.

Clover gasped as he swiftly deflected the blade of the man's broadsword, before barely blocking it once again, grimacing as the other man pressed further into Clover's rapier. Clover kicked his's leg before he dodged left, slicing upwards before advancing. The man deflected his advances easily before he spun to the left, out of the way of Clover's fourth advance. Clover leapt to the left as the other man stood up, kicking him towards the wall and aiming his sword at the man's throat, the point barely an inch away as his back was up against the wall, the bedside table beside him blocking his escape. But he only smirked as he snatched a glass of water from the table, splashing it at him. Clover spluttered, careful to keep his sword to the man's throat, but he had already vanished. Clover looked around in shock, searching for the man that was nowhere to be seen.

"You never did catch my name, did you, lucky charm?" A voice echoed from the balcony in amusement. Clover looked towards his left to the door of the balcony to see the man sitting on the ledge casually, mischief shining in his eyes.

"The name's Qrow. Qrow Branwen. I've been called a lot of different things over the years, though. Rich Man's Poltergeist, no good vigilante." He carried on dramatically, but he sighed with relief as he saw the rest of the Happy Huntresses escaping into the woods, all of them alright, all of them alive. He looked back at Clover, flashing him a cocky smirk.

"But I believe you call me..." He drifted off as he brought out a feather, black as night, placing it on the ledge, along with his scarlet red mask. Clover gasped when he recognized the feather, and then the man standing on the edge his balcony.

"The Harbinger of Solitas." Qrow finished, winking at Clover, who bolted towards him as fast as he could, as fast as his legs allowed him. But he didn't know if it was good or bad luck, but Clover was seconds too late as Qrow saluted the man, leaning back and falling off. Clover gasped as he looked over the ledge, expecting to find a body on the ground. But instead, he found nothing, as if he just vanished into thin air.

But this was just the beginning. Fate had much more elaborate things planned for the two, and this was the spark that ignited a passionate flame. Despite their insanely different lives, they were bound to meet each other, fates intertwined for eternity.

They just didn't know if that was a curse of a blessing.

But they were soon to find out.


End file.
